Chapter seventeen:
For the Congo --- 1907 – April 2nd
Meeting the people
The grating chime of an old-fashioned windup alarm clock jolted me awake. I rolled over and released the pin to silence it. Unlike the newer mechanical models, this clock was more nuisance than utility.
Rising from bed, I stretched, still dressed in the clothes I had slept in. After last night's ordeal, changing had seemed an unnecessary burden. Wasting no time, I headed downstairs to find Gustav waiting by the door, impeccably dressed in yet another of his suits. With a silent nod, he opened the door for us both.
As we stepped outside, I stopped a dozen feet from the flagpole while Gustav strode ahead. Near the base of the pole stood two older men clad in what appeared to be military uniforms, though they bore no resemblance to anything Austrian, German, or Russian. Their attire seemed to belong to another world of organization entirely.
Their equipment was a strange, mismatched array: rounded metal helmets and jungle-patterned clothing, neither of which adhered to any uniform standard I recognized. Instead of a national insignia or identifying emblem, their uniforms bore a macabre emblem—a skull and crossbones—with the word "Freikorps" stitched beneath in silver thread.
What struck me most were the oversized backpacks they carried, towering from their waists to above their heads. These were the largest packs I had ever seen, supported by a metal frame that wrapped securely around their hips. I could only guess at their capacity—eighty or perhaps even a hundred pounds, or more.
It was astonishing to see them bear such a load. At the time, even a forty-pound pack could render one's shoulders agonizingly sore after just a few miles. Yet these men carried twice that weight with apparent ease.
Catching my gaze fixed on the peculiar figures, Gustav smiled knowingly and explained, "These men will be your guards. Adolf, you need to speak with them. This is your expedition, and they need to understand your plans."
I hadn't expected Gustav to act on his promise so quickly. Not even a full week had passed. Was this his way of amusing himself at my expense? Still, I couldn't stand there like a fool. So, I began.
"Would you both care to step inside to the dining room? I have a map in my bag, and we can begin planning there. I'll explain everything in detail."
For a moment, they stood silently, exchanging glances. Finally, the taller man on the left spoke up. "Introductions first, Adolf. It's not my intent to be rude, but it's crucial that we all know each other. Your brother has already introduced you to us, so I'll start."
"My name is Conrad Webber. I'm fifty-four years old, an operations planner, and the squad leader of a hostage rescue team. My military career began in France during the war of seventy-one. Afterward, I served as an officer under the Kaiser for two decades."
"Five months ago, I joined the Freikorps—a mercenary company that primarily handles government contracts. As a 'hostage rescue' specialist, my job is to plan and execute operations to retrieve fools who find themselves held captive in places like Africa or the Middle East."
"More often than not, it's a dull negotiation rather than a dramatic rescue. This time, however, I'm being paid to ensure that no hostage situation arises in the first place."
"I'm also tasked with helping you plan your operation. Do you have any questions, Adolf?"
I paused, letting his words sink in. It was unexpected to find such a highly decorated man here. With Gustav orchestrating things, I had no idea what to anticipate—but a hostage rescue specialist was certainly not it.
What puzzled me most was the concept of hostage negotiations. From what I understood, most governments, including ours, adopted a hands-off policy to avoid encouraging further kidnappings. Unable to reconcile this, I decided to ask.
"I thought negotiating with hostage-takers was against government policy?"
Conrad nodded, his tone carrying the air of explaining the obvious.
"Yes, officially, it is against policy. Let me simplify: the hostage-takers demand a sum, the family either pays or refuses, and they usually contact the government for help."
"Behind closed doors, an under-the-table agreement is often pursued between the government and the hostage-takers. The amount offered is typically a fraction—perhaps a hundredth or a tenth—of the original demand. If they reject the offer or disclose the government's involvement, however…"
"…we resort to force and retrieve the hostages by any means necessary. Officially, of course, the narrative remains that no ransom was ever paid."
Realizing I'd likely been privy to information not meant for me—perhaps even classified—I simply nodded and refrained from pressing further. Pursuing that line of thought seemed far more trouble than it was worth.
The silence lingered until the second man, standing to Conrad's right, finally spoke. "My name's Nicholas, forty-one years old. I'm the team's survival expert. Most of my experience comes from months-long expeditions in the Andes and across the Tibetan Plateau."
"That's about it, I suppose. Unlike Conrad, I don't have much military experience—just a few missions where I served as a navigator. My combat training only began after I joined the Freikorps."
"There's not much else to add, really. My role also involves teaching you how to handle the common injuries we're likely to encounter during the expedition though."
"Alright then," Conrad said briskly. "Let's head inside and begin planning. This will take a few hours, Adolf, so be sure your schedule is clear for the rest of the day."